When a room goes white
by Sweetie Darling
Summary: When a room contains no feeling, you get a numb, spineless jellyfish of a roommate.


Sitting here in a blank, empty room.  
Nothing in this room. Just blank  
I look at the walls. Just that off white color.  
Blank. Blankity Fucking Blank Blank.  
Nothing noteworthy.   
Why do I hate these walls so much?  
Because I see myself projected on them.  
I see my life plastered on them like cheap shitty wall paper.  
I see my face in every New Mexican style Adobe corner.  
I hear my voice every time the light turns on.  
I smell myself rotting away in this rotten, moldy mattress.  
I taste my sweat and stench every time I open my mouth.  
Every sense I lose control of reminds me of my worthless existence on this God forsaken planet.  
Every time I let go and accidentally smell something, reminds me of how bad it can get.  
12.43  
She's Late.  
10.30 is feeding time. She's always late. she waits for a commercial break.  
Her fucking soap operas.   
If their called a soap opera, why are they so dirty and have absolutely no singing?  
I wonder about these things all the time.  
If it's called the Human Race, why are we all so inhumane?  
I guess I understand where they get the word RACE.  
Everyone is always trying to push each other out of the way so they can get a piece too.  
That seems like it should explain why I'm here in this blank little room,  
But I don't know enough to understand it myself.  
Maybe you have to understand yourself to understand anything.  
I could never understand myself.  
One summer, when I was 8 years old, I found a turtle.  
I flipped it on it's back in the hot sun.  
It sat there for hours, trying to right it's self.  
It dried out and smelled awful.   
I think it messed in it's shell, if they do that sort of thing.  
I just sat down in the grass right next to it starring.  
That night I cried.   
I couldn't explain to anyone why i was crying, it was just one of those things that had to be done.  
I cried for hours.  
I cried because, for the first time ever I realized.  
I realized how fragile life is.  
Just flip em over, and their down for the count.  
That seems like it should explain why I'm here in this blank little room,  
But I don't Know enough to understand it myself.  
If this was a confession, I confess.  
I confess to what ever I did to deserve being in this little shitty room.  
This fucking room.  
HOW LONG HAVE I BEEN THIS THIS FUCKING ROOM?  
Nobody answers me.  
WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT SMELL?  
No answer.  
I'M GONNA SLIT MY THROAT WITH MY BELT BUCKLE!  
Am I even wearing a belt?  
I'M SWALLOWING MY TONGUE!  
I shout just to get an answer.  
Is there anyone out there?  
IF I PRESS MY TEMPLES HARD ENOUGH I CAN GIVE MYSELF A BRAIN HEMORRHAGE.  
No answer.  
My throat is horse.  
12.46  
That slut is still not here.  
I'm fucking starving.  
Fucking TV.  
If you smash a TV with a hammer, it implodes.  
The picture tube is vacuum sealed.  
Any breach in that seal causes air to rush inward.  
That air can make the rest of the picture tube crumble with it.  
Same goes for a computer monitor.  
I'm so hungry.   
When the food gets here, it'll be so repulsive I won't eat it.  
It's always some microwaveable burrito.  
If you find the safety switch in a microwave,  
(The one that the door presses so the microwave doesn't start with the door open)  
You can rig it so when you press start and put your head in, it'll fry your brains.  
Cook power: 100%  
Time: 12 seconds  
That is just enough time to thoroughly melt my skin and fry my brain.  
Just twelve seconds until it's all gone.  
Not an afternoon drying out in the grass.  
Not breaking a TV over my head.  
Not slitting my throat and slowly bleeding to death.  
Not slipping my tongue past my upper pallet and into my esophagus.  
12 seconds 'til judgment.  
Maybe when I'm judged, they will tell me what I did.  
12.51  
I can't believe I'm eating this shit.  
It isn't even a burrito.   
It isn't even edible.  
She is my only contact with the outside world,  
And look at the shit she has me eating.  
Someone get me out of this damn room.  
I see my life plastered on the walls, like cheap shitty lead based paint.  
I see my face in every victorian style double plastered baseboard.  
I hear my voice every time the light burns out.  
I smell myself rotting away in this crusty, decaying mattress.  
I taste my sweat and stench every time I take a breath.  
Every sense I lose control of reminds me of my worthless existence on this God forsaken planet.  
Every time I let go and accidentally smell something, reminds me of how bad it can get.  



End file.
